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“I have nothing to say, whatsoever.”
“Superior man-flesh with a brain,” Trina said approvingly. “You hit the jackpot squared, Dallas. Now get your skinny ass in that bathroom.”
Trina flounced, on five-inch heels shaped like the heart Eve wasn’t certain she had, into the bathroom.
“Traitor.” The word was low, vibrating with dark.
“Completely out of my hands. You can turn your knife in Summerset, as you’re wont to do in any case. He let her in.”
“Dallas! You don’t want me to come out there.”
Eve’s shoulders hunched. “I’ll deal with you later,” she promised and marched in to face the music. “Just make it fast,” she told Trina. “And don’t—”
“Do I tell you how to track down killers?”
“Crap.” Eve dropped into the portable salon chair Trina could-n’t have gotten up there by herself. One of them had helped her, Eve thought. And they would pay.
“It’s a big night,” Trina began as she swirled a protective cape over Eve. “Nadine looks abso fab, thanks to me. And so will you.” She pulled a lock of Eve’s hair between her fingers. “Nice and clean. Good.”
She pulled it back, secured it, then lowered the chair to half recline.
“Wait a minute,” Eve said as Trina pumped some foam from bottle to palm. “You said hair.”
“Your hair’s attached to your head, remember? Your face is part of your head. You’re getting a lightning facial. That’s all we have time for.”
“What’s wrong with my face?”
“You’ve got a good one, and we’re going to keep it that way. Give it up, close your eyes and it’ll go faster.”
Stuck, Eve closed her eyes. She’d never be able to explain, she supposed, how weird and creepy it was to have somebody rubbing and stroking her face—unless it was Roarke. And he didn’t put goop all over her while he was doing it.
“Wait till you see Mavis. Leonardo designed a killer outfit for her. I did them this afternoon, and got to play with Bella. She’s the baby girl of all baby girls. Almost makes me want one. Mavis is going to help Peabody with her ’do since I’m up here.”
Eve let the words slide in and out of her brain while she tried not to think about what gunk and goo was going on her face and hair.
The chair vibrated lightly under her, massaging muscles she hadn’t realized were so tight, so tired. She didn’t realize she’d dozed off until Trina brought the chair upright again.
The snipping and tugging and combing, and gunking began. It didn’t seem to take long, but she couldn’t check because her wrist unit was under the cape, and she was afraid to move while Trina’s sharp tool clicked around her.
Trina stepped back, took the last sip of champagne. “Okay. Totally ult, low on the flash, up on the class.” She put away her tools, then swirled the cape off. “Up, up. I’ve got to rock.”
She set her cases on the seat of the chair Eve vacated. “See you there,” she said, and rolled the chair away.
Cautious, Eve turned to the mirror.
Her hair lay sleek against her head instead of tousled, and whatever Trina had plastered on it to get it sleek brought out the lighter shades so it looked just a little streaky. She ran a hand over
it, relieved when it felt like her regular hair.
Her eyes looked bigger—but that was all the crap Trina had smudged on. Her cheekbones looked a little sharper, her lips more defined.
“Still you under there,” she murmured. “It’s just a kind of illusion. Or . . . a costume.”
“I trust she didn’t knock you unconscious to . . .” Roarke paused in the doorway, then stepped in for a closer study. “She is very good at her work. It’s a different look for you, but lovely and a bit elegant. Very suitable for the occasion. Here, I thought you’d need this after your ordeal.”
He handed her a glass of champagne.
“I guess I’m now worthy of superior man-flesh.”
